Overtime
by Fairady
Summary: Quistis hates schedules more than ever.
1. Monday

Disclaimer: I don't own or make money off of these people or this story since I'm not Square. I'm just the person who gets to play the games occasionally.

Warnings: A bitter Quis.

Notes: Somewhere there is a challenge that I copied the prompts from and utterly forgot about. This is "Monday; Beginnings, beauty (or lack thereof), dealing with something unpleasant."

Monday  
by Fairady

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The beginning of the work week always starts early for Quistis Trepe. Barring any sudden missions, her schedule for Mondays is always the same.

She is up by five, out of her room by five thirty, and in the Training Center by five forty-five. What follows is something that Selphie had once jokingly called a natural disaster of mythical proportions. The logistics personnel in charge of keeping the room filled with monsters had not found it quite as funny though. Thus, her Monday morning habit only lasts for a few woefully short hours. She makes the best of her allotted time though.

Quistis doesn't leave the monster infested area until the red haze she'd woken up to fades. Which is usually around seven, the enforced cut off time for her. She then has half an hour to shower and grab a cup --or a pot-- of coffee before meeting the students.

Burying her face in the oversized mug Zell had gotten her for her last birthday, Quistis forces herself not to laugh. _Students._ Already worn from her morning exercise the thought is only bitterly amusing instead of rage inducing.

The class of ten only meets once a week for advanced tips on wielding a whip. Quistis spends the time watching the already capable cadets fight each other, only occasionally needing to step in to demonstrate a technique or make a correction. She rarely has a need to actually teach the cadets anything.

Four of the class are obviously Trepies. They spend more time watching her than their own opponent. Waiting for one of them to get hurt is usually the highlight of her day. Tending the minor wounds is the most she does. Despite they're obvious infatuation they are passably good with the weapon.

Two of the students would be better off finding another weapon to specialize in though. Oh, they were more than capable of wielding a whip, but Quistis can easily see from their fighting styles that the whip is not best for them. A whip was not made for close combat. It's not her place to tell them that though. All she can do is dutifully write up a recommendation to their teacher every week. She wonders if their teachers read the notes, or if her exile from all things academic is still something laughed at among the Instructors.

She doesn't have to wonder. She knows it still is.

The other four cadets are perfect for the weapon. They have the stance, the balance, and the constitution to step back and fight from a distance. Their grasp of basic maneuvers meshed seamlessly with the more advanced steps they have been taught in a style that is unique to each student. All that is left for them is to practice to polish their skills, and that is something better left for them to do on their own. There is nothing more that she can teach them.

Quistis is not one to be overly optimistic. She knows that this assignment is nothing more than a scrap being tossed her way to appease the restlessness of a high ranking soldier.

Sure, Garden changed after NORG was removed, but in some ways it's still the same as ever. All academic decisions are still being made by the same board as before. The same board that had stripped her license from her.

The cadets are already warming up when she enters the designated sparring room. Quistis watches them from the door for while before tipping her mug up to finish it off. Grimacing at the grainy and bitter dregs.

-

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	2. Tuesday

Disclaimer: I don't own or make money off of these people or this story since I'm not Square. I'm just the person who gets to play the games occasionally.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Somewhere there is a challenge that I copied the prompts from and utterly forgot about. This is "Tuesday; Bad luck, grace, new items."

Tuesday  
by Fairady

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Tuesday breaks Quistis' weekly routine. Instead of being relegated to being an overpaid paper-pusher she's given the chance to take a solo mission. Like any SeeD with over a year in she jumped on it.

Not many people would pay top dollar for SeeD unless the situation really needed their caliber of expertise, and those missions never required less than a four man team. The solo missions where the problem was small enough that a single SeeD could handle them were few and far between. Mostly, the problem was taken care of in a single day and the SeeD was then free to enjoy the rest of the allotted mission time on their own. Solo missions were basically paid vacations.

The specs were simple. An unknown monster lurking in the plains around Deling. It's attack was weak, and it preferred to run. The local university wanted the monster detained for further study. Alive if possible, but dead would also be acceptable.

Simple. Quistis felt no guilt in snapping this mission up.

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.

The Cherenkov was a surprisingly small gun despite it's strength. Not so surprising that it originated from Timber. In a city where everyone could claim membership in one underground faction or another the smaller and deadlier varieties of weaponry had been encouraged by constant Galbadian searches. This gun had been specifically designed for smaller people. Smaller grips to fit their hands, less recoil to knock them around, and thus a lot easier for them to use.

Quistis eyed the gun with distaste. Trust the higher ups to take a simple mission and _make_ it complicated. Being a field tester of new ammunition wasn't her preferred mode of getting a mission finished quickly.

"Don't be like that, Quisy," Irvine drawled as he added a clip on holster to the table. Four magazines, the appropriate holders for said magazines, and two cartons of ammunition quickly followed. "This little lady'll treat you right if you just give her a chance."

"Is all of this really necessary?" Quistis ignored the man's rambling, waving over the pile of extra gear. She disliked guns because of how uncontrollable they were. Once the bullet left the chamber there was no altering it's course. "I have no intention of using that at all."

"Well, you're getting it anyway," Irvine gathered all the gear up with both hands and nodded towards a door. "There's no use having a weapon and not havin' the ammo for it. Besides, you never know, you just might end up using it."

"I doubt that."

"Don't got too many of the new ammo they're wantin' you to test out, but the regular stuff'll do for this," Irvine ignored her comment as they entered a small shooting range. Two targets were suspended at the far side of it. The weapon and gear were dumped onto a nearby table. "Now, let's see what your marksmanship is like, Quisy."

"Bad," Quistis grimaced as she stepped up and loaded five round into a magazine. The Cherenkov fit her hand perfectly as she slapped the magazine in. Flicking the safety off she took a minute to let it settle more comfortably. Relearning how to hold a gun. "It's been a long time since I held one of these, Irvine."

"Just remember your breathing," Irvine repositioned her thumb. "Good thing about this model is you don't really have to work to keep her steady."

She brought the gun up lining the sights up. The target swam before she remembered to close one eye. Not having -and not wanting- a projectile weapon was no excuse for being this unsure with a weapon. She'd have to work on that when she got back.

"You're gonna want to fire before-"

Quistis pulled the trigger, the bang drowning Irvine out. Her arm barely moved and she was still on target. She fired the other four bullets rapidly.

"-before you get tired," Irvine finished after the last echo died, and flicking a switch on the wall making the target move forward. He smiled as Quistis snatched the paper down, reaching over to help her straighten it out. "Let's see how 'bad' you really are."

One hole was in the dark center circle that represented the heart, another was in the gray area that was the neck, and the rest were in the white area that counted as misses. Irvine laughed. Quistis rolled the paper up and smacked him with it.

"Aw, c'mon!" Irvine held both hands up pleadingly. "You got one good shot. Just means you're rusty, that's why I got the ammo. A little practice and you'll be fine. Trust me."

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.

The gun dug uncomfortably into her side as she shifted with the train. It fit under her arm awkwardly and got in the way of nearly every move she made. Quistis had done nothing but practice her movement while wearing the damn thing the entire trip. Fortunately, the SeeD car was empty and she was able to do so in peace.

Deling came far too soon for her liking though. Quistis self-consciously adjusted the gun again before debarking for her mission.

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End file.
